


Many Lessons, Many Teachers

by RedPriest



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-18 14:57:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14854949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedPriest/pseuds/RedPriest
Summary: Frustrated by the lack of ongoing content for some characters, this story aims to create a mature, ongoing narrative for champions who have yet to see their narratives continued. Illaoi spreads her god's truth in Bilgewater, Taliyah wrestles with her distrust of the resurrected emperor, and a mysterious, powerful mage rises in Ionia, declaring herself sovereign.





	1. Chapter 1

**ILLAOI I**   


HARSH LESSON

 

“And you are certain this is the correct move, Truth Bearer?” the Hierophant asked. There was a note of condescension in her voice, but Illaoi would let it pass. Now was not the time for fighting. Later, the old woman could be taught.

Illaoi did not doubt the Hierophant’s faith or conviction. As with all permitted so close to the Truth Bearer, Illaoi tested them frequently and often. Their motion could never be in doubt. But Nagakaborous’ will was for them to be here. Illaoi could feel it in her bones. That was how her god spoke to her.

“You yearn for Buhru. This I see, but there is nothing for us there now. The paylangi are drowning on that ship. I want them to swim.”

The Hierophant avoided direct eye contact and continued to row the canoe. Illaoi had assisted at first, but now her eyes were on the water. Faint grey mist twirled around them. She did not anticipate the Black Mist to rise against them now, but if it did she would be ready. Usually hoisted upon Illaoi’s shoulder, the Eye of God sat beside her feet, patient wisps of green drawing from it.

The Hierophant’s eyes flashed briefly at the Eye.

“You think it disrespectful,” Illaoi said. “To sit the Eye at my feet.”

“I trust in your judgement.”

“As you should. The Bearded Lady cares little for sermons or respect. She asks only that we live in motion. And if we are spotted, the woman will order us burned. Does that frighten you?”

Ahead, the great warship loomed, the _Syren_. Illaoi was not daunted.

“Many things frighten me.”

The Hierophant was old, with children, grandchildren. Illaoi selected her from the crowd personally. Someone she could depend on to speak frankly, although how much use that was she couldn’t say. Illaoi’s way was to follow her hear, and seldom did she defer to others. Illaoi’s predecessor had chosen differently from her, typically young girls, but he was long dead. He was not in motion. Illaoi tightened her grip on the Eye.

“Slower now,” she said. She lifted the Eye of God and it began to spew a dark blue fog from it. It surrounded them quickly, obscuring them from view. The war galley looming ahead disappeared from visibility, but Illaoi could feel it still. The life onboard, riling. There was a nervous, twitchy electricity about it. Soon the eldritch fog was so thick that the dank saltwater smell struggled to penetrate it. “We are near.”

They reached the static war galley in a few minutes, and the Hierophant brought the canoe to a stop just below. Above Illaoi could hear murmurs from people onboard, although they were too high to be made out. She anticipated a fear of the Black Mist, and would use it against them. Then, the Truth Bearer waited.

They waited for what felt like a long time, but she had always been patient. Even as an awkward girl, Illaoi was well-practiced at biding time. Sometimes she would wait after schooling for her parents to leave the Temple of the Blue Flame. Eventually they emerged, exhausted and drenched in sweat. They did not keep to the ways of Nagakaborous like Illaoi one day would; they attended, as did many, to enjoy carnal delights. They were static, limp creatures, but Illaoi missed them. They did not live to see her rise.

A quiet, high creak sounded a few feet ahead of them, and a good ten above. Illaoi kept one hand on the Eye and with her other hand pulled an oar through the water, pushing them towards the noise. A man was peering out at them from the hull. His skin was much darker than Illaoi’s, and his accent thick.

“Come,” he said, and threw a set of rope ladders down to them.

The Hierophant, as was custom, ascended first, slowly. Illaoi was much quicker to enter the ship. Upon standing at full height, her head brushed against the ceiling. Unable to hoist the Eye onto her shoulder because of her prodigious height, she wrapped her right arm tightly around it. She would need it this night.

“I present Illaoi, Truth Bearer of Nagakaborous,” the Hierophant said.

The dark-skinned man offered a sly grin. “Bow, shall I? Kneel?” His accent was thick, and not unlike Gangplank’s. Not unlike everyone in Bilgewater.

“You know why I have come,” Illaoi said, looking around the room. It was small, but large enough to comfortably hold them. A varied fruit bowl sat on the table in the centre of the room, near a single bed. She walked over and took a pear for herself.

Okko narrowed his eyes. “I am surprised you came in that mist. There’s rumours that the captain wants to head back to land. It’s bad.”

“The mist is not a concern,” Illaoi said with a smile. “It was I who summoned it. It is mist; nothing more.”

“Geez, lady, you don’t do that shit. People really thought that this was the end. And after such a good few months, too.”

“If that is what will force them to change.”

“Before we go any further. I want my cut.”

Illaoi looked at the Hierophant, whose brow was furrowed.

_At least he had the gall to ask,_ Illaoi thought. She had brokered this meeting through the war chiefs of Bilgewater, almost a week before. It had been two cycles of the moon since Gangplank had passed the Test of Nagakaborous, and there had been no contact. That was good. She needed him to forge his place. No more complacency.

“Your cut,” Illaoi repeated.

“You’re here to rob her, ain’t you? I want in. I want whatever you’re getting. A hundred serpents, not one less. It just ain’t worth it otherwise.” He peered suspiciously at the Eye. “That a weapon of some sort? This a big ship, lady. You may be big but you ain’t that big. I want my cut before we go any further, or it ain’t worth it.”

“You know to whom you speak?” the Hierophant said. The heavy-set woman looked incredulous.

Before Okko could respond, Illaoi lifted a single finger. “You think me a thief.”

“I think everyone just wants what they can get their hands on. Maybe your eyes are bigger than your biceps.”

Illaoi tossed the core of the pear aside. “I do not steal,” she said, moving towards the man. “I take.” Illaoi was a large human, but she moved fast. She slammed the Eye of God into Okku’s skull. A heavy crack, and he crumpled onto the floor.

“Where is she?” Illaoi asked, towering over him. He was cast in shadow.

“You shit,” he slurred, trying to move back across the floor. He reached for a flintlock sitting on his bedside table, but the Hierophant was faster. She snatched it and threw it into the ocean, then closed over the window they had used as entrance. The mightiest children of Nagakaborous had no need for such crude weapons. “I’ll have you gutted for this—”

Illaoi crouched down beside him. “Fortune. Where is she?”

“ _Fortune_? You want her?”

“You think I would come to a war galley to plunder gold? I would rip open the walls of a bank if I required serpents.”

“She’s – she’s in her quarters. Outside and to… the left,” he said, struggling to get the words out. Her bludgeon would do damage, were he to survive this encounter. But while Illaoi was here, she could see no reason to spare this man the truth. He disgusted her.

“Learn!”

Illaoi ripped the crumple man’s spirit from his body. A pale blue and transparent version of him was dragged across the floor, screaming silently. It moved more quickly than his physical self. He simply lay there, bewildered, confused. The tentacles, drawn by the power she channelled through the Eye, began to emerge from the walls. They thrashed first at his spirit, detaching him from reality. He writhed on the floor, screaming, and then he drowned. Water flooded out of his lungs and onto the floor. His body, dead, continued to eject the fluid that had filled his lungs. Nagakaborous had exacted her tithe.

“Bilgewater will learn,” Illaoi said.

The Hierophant had moved behind Illaoi in the chaos. “You will show them,” she said.

Footsteps began to gather outside. Distance closing fast, the wood of the ship heaving under boots. At least three or four, perhaps more.

“There will be no need to wait for me,” Illaoi said. “Nagakaborous will see me home.” The tentacles began to writhe, and the Hierophant bowed and hurried back down the rope ladders. By the time she had left the window, the door burst open. Illaoi was prepared. The pirates kicked the door to Okko’s quarters, cutlasses drawn. Their eyes were wide as they saw the chaos, the dead man.

“It is what it looks like,” Illaoi said, raising her idol. “I have come to teach.”

They moved on her fast, but she took their souls too. She did not need to wait for the outcome of their tests, moving past them as they howled and slashed at the tentacles with their swords. Illaoi was forgotten to them; they had existential matters to contend with now.

She exited the room and turned to the right, knowing the basic layout of a ship like this. A decade before she had spent much time on the _Leviathan_. This, she figured, was constructed similarly. One of only a handful of ships this size, constructed near the Slaughter Docks to kill and retrieve the fiercest of sea monsters. Illaoi had enjoyed her time as a pirate priestess of Nagakaborous, but it had eventually become stagnant. She had left Gangplank behind as she charged onwards.

Later, the high priestess accused her of neglecting her duty—she should have subjected Gangplank to the test but had been afraid of what Nagakaborous would do. She should have trusted her god then, as she did now.

The Truth Bearer carved her way through the ship, but her abilities had limits. She had to save herself for Fortune, so she began to crush skulls and crack jaws. Two men fell to her on the stairs, but the pirates on deck seemed oblivious to the commotion below. The mist still had their attention. Still, when Illaoi emerged on deck, she quickly drew attention. A few of the men seemed to recognise her.

“I am here for none of you,” she asked. “But if you demand to face my god, then I will show you.”

“What are you here for?” one of them asked, unsheathing his weapon.

“I am here for the captain of this ship. Where is she? Where is Sarah Fortune?”

“I’m here.”

Captain Fortune was ahead, standing near the galley’s helm. Even by the dim light of the moon and underneath a large, wide-brimmed hat, her hair was so bright. Two guns hung from her belt. The last time Illaoi had glimpsed Sarah Fortune she was but a girl. Now she was the captain of her own ship, a crew that was—at least in theory—loyal to her. The woman knew how to navigate the world of Bilgewater, and perhaps she was in motion.

“I was told you’d be coming to see me. Where is Okko?”

Two dozen pirates had unsheathed their weapons; a handful of guns were aimed directly at Illaoi. She was flesh and blood, and Illaoi had no doubt the weapons would be sufficient to kill her. She could bear a few bullets, but not this many. And their captain’s aim—Illaoi knew—would be precise.

“It is my duty to test souls,” Illaoi said.

“He’s dead, then,” she said plainly. Her face betrayed nothing.

“I’m not him, Illaoi. I don’t do things the way he did. He was a monster. He ruled through fear and butchery and did nothing to better Bilgewater.”

“You consider yourself an altruist,” Illaoi called, chuckling.

“I consider myself better than a reaver king.”

“It makes no matter what you say. I am not here to judge you.”

“Oh?” Fortune asked and began a descent down the stairs onto the deck. “And if you’re the only one swinging that thing, who judges you?”

“Nagakaborous,” Illaoi said, and lifted the Eye. “Every time I pick it up.”

“If you aren’t here to judge me, why are you here?”

“You will be judged, child. But not by me.”

The pirates began to move on Illaoi.

“No,” Fortune shouted. “Don’t hurt her.” The pirates slowly moved back, although did not holster their weapons. Illaoi’s death would cause war in Bilgewater; this she knew. But Captain Fortune did not necessarily see that. Where she stood, Illaoi’s very presence began to draw out her god. The tentacles were on the deck now, twitching cautiously, as if probing the air. The captain was less than ten feet from her now. “I’m better than him. In every way. He was cruel.”

“And you are ignorant. Let me show you.”

Fortune drew her guns. “I’ve got a good feeling about this.”

“ **BEHOLD**!”


	2. Taliyah I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following Taliyah and Sivir's escape from Xerath, the two must decide on their next step when they receive a visitor.

TALIYAH  
The Sands Claim Them All

 

Taliyah was still unaccustomed to the new bustle of Shurima.  Before she had embarked on her journey across Valoran, she had travelled for miles and not encountered another living soul. Now large swathes of people gathered from all the corners of Runeterra,  making pilgrimage to see the reforged Sun Disc, and hoping for a glimpse of the resurrected emperor, Azir. Taliyah too hoped to meet Azir, but she was keeping that to himself.

_He will pay for what he has brought upon Shurima_ , she thought, eyeing the distant Sun Disc. Only the wonders of Ionia’s rich magical landscape contained marvels incredible enough to match its scale. _Are you in there, Azir? What are you waiting for?_

Of course, Azir had not yet fully revealed himself. Soldiers made of sand wisps stood guard at the entrance to the palace underneath the Sun Disc, and refused entry to all. They had already killed three people under Azir’s orders. Unyielding, empty instruments of war, there was no way to buy, bully, or reason with them. 

“You buyin’ that?” asked a stall merchant, eyes trained on the sunfruit in Taliyah’s hand. Briefly, she had quite forgotten where she was.

“Oh,” she said, placing it back down. “I’m sorry. I got a little distracted.”

“You been holding it for a long time. Unsellable now. People will have seen.” The merchant was heavily robed, hiding pale skin from the sun.

Taliyah looked down at the fruit, which was well beyond its prime. She and her tribe had considered it a luxury, rare to come across. It seemed that the Oasis of the Dawn bringing water to Shurima—no, _restoring_ the waters of Shurima—had made it abundant, as they were in Ionia. Merchant stalls were packed with them, although they were small and green, not like the thick, juicy ones she had known as a child.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t have any money right now.” A thought occurred to her as the merchant’s expression darkened. “But I can come back, once I do.”

“I’ve heard that before,” he said, turning away from her.

“The Great Weaver does not like broken promises. I will return to you.”

Taliyah’s options were quickly dwindling. She had left Sivir almost an hour ago now, and the sun was beginning to set. The earth at her feet was beginning to cool. But although Taliyah could push away the hunger, Sivir was still injured, and she needed to help her regain her strength before she would let her leave. Besides, the one who called himself Nasus said he would return for her, and Nasus was not dead.  

She and Sivir had watched from a nearby vantage as he and the magus Xerath had collided. Even under the scorching desert sun, the fierce heat their battle had released had winded them, and reduced those closest to ash. Taliyah had done what she could: she lifted the earth to shelter them, to protect them, but there was only so much she could do before the risk was too great.

If what Nasus had said was true, and Sivir was of Azir’s bloodline, then she had to be protected. From the emperor and the magus alike. The sight of him still gave Taliyah nightmares. He was unlike anything she had ever seen, even in Ionia where magic was wild and entwined with nature. She had seen the Bridge at the Placidium, where a great battle had taken place long before her magic had awakened, and both the fertile lands of Navori, and the dark quadrant, where the bombs had fallen. Unusual creatures and strongholds moving through the air.

Yes, the lands of Ionia had taught the stoneweaver much, but Xerath…

No. She didn’t want to think about Xerath right now.

She skirted to the back of the stalls and waited a little while longer. Whether it was ten or twenty minutes until she saw an opportunity, she could not tell. Taliyah could plant herself on Shuriman earth for hours, and it would keep her company. The stones underfoot contained stories, and Taliyah shared in them. Here, so close to the Sun Disc, all she could feel was pain.

The stoneweaver would do well to ignore the pain. “I have to focus,” she whispered to herself.

Opportunity came in the form of a turned back. Taliyah did not feel good about her actions—the Great Weaver might even be ashamed, although she did not think her family would. There was simply nowhere to hunt. Mercenary groups had been drawn to the Sun Disc too; even with her power, Taliyah could not match a trained group on the hunt. They travelled at night on horseback, hunting some food for themselves, and others to sell to the merchants.

She took a flat pebble from her pouch and pushed on it, willing it towards a basket. She pictured the pebble unfurling, thinning, and it began to unmake itself. Supported by her will, she drew the basket to her quickly, and scurried off.

They had sought refuge in an old, long-abandoned stone hut, large enough for the two of them. Sivir spoke only when spoken to, and declined to share stories of her past. That she was of Azir’s linegage, it seemed, had been news to her.

“Do you have any abilities?” Taliyah asked, hopeful.

“I can draw blood from a stone,” she said.

“Really?”

Sivir smirked. “No. How many years do you have, again?”

“Soon to be eighteen.”

“Right. Well, no. I can’t draw blood from a stone. But with a stone you could draw blood from a man, and the price of blood is often gold. If you’re doing it right, it could be a lot.”

Taliyah replayed conversational titbits in her mind often, searching for concealed meanings, for answers, because none were forthcoming. The Noxians, Sivir, Nasus, and even Master Yasuo—they had hidden the biggest parts of themselves from her. Nobody wanted to share their burden, as Taliyah’s people would. She missed them dearly.

_If I could trade my power for my family_ , she thought every day, _I might, but then there would be no one to protect them._

No, she needed her gifts. _Especially now_.

The stone Taliyah had fashioned into a door for the hut was slightly ajar—not the way she had left it. Taliyah bounded quickly towards the door, feeling seismic vibrations every time her feet collided with the ground.

Two exasperated, hushed voices sounded from inside.

Sivir said, “—because I can’t. And the girl stays with me.”

Nasus sighed. The Ascended Curator of the Sands still perplexed her. She couldn’t understand what he was, or even what he could do. But he had survived an encounter with the dark magus, so he had to be doing something right.

“Mortals,” Nasus said. “You have no imagining of destiny, or its pull.”

“I have no interest in destiny. I make my own path, jackal. And my path carves a way into the future, not ancient history. This is a war between things above and beyond me. There is nothing I can do against Xerath.”

“You owe Azir a life debt, Sivir.”

“I have nothing to offer him.”

“Your blood—”

Taliyah accidentally leaned too heavily on the door, pushing it open slightly.

 “Taliyah?” Sivir interrupted.

The stoneweaver pushed open the door. “Hello. I didn’t mean to listen, or to interrupt.”

“No. I am very glad you did,” Sivir said, smirking. Her eyes flickered to the basket. “Nasus was leaving.”

Nasus turned to Taliyah. He was standing at his full height now, no hunching, no hiding: his full, Ascended might. Faded gold armour with a blue, metallic sash around his waist. His axe was mounted upon his back, damaged.

“We want no part of Azir’s war,” Taliyah said. “You seem good, and honourable, but we will not sacrifice Shurima for a slave-master.”

Nasus paused, reflecting. “Azir has no slaves.”

“The soldiers—”

“—are constructs. Sand, no more. Not unlike your own abilities. As his final act before the destruction of Shurima, Azir freed the slaves. Xerath among them.”

Taliyah didn’t think that made much sense. “Xerath was a slave?”

“Yes. A magus, but a slave. Xerath is beyond that now. His mind is so consumed with hate. He will hunt Azir to the ends of the Earth, and if he succeeds… The world is lost, Taliyah. Everything you have ever known. Everyone you have ever loved. He will turn the world to dust.”

“I have to find my tribe.”

“Your family are no safer with you at their side. He is far beyond any of us alone.” Nasus turned to Sivir. “When he finds you, he will not just kill you. He will defile you with dark magic.”

“Then we’ll leave,” Taliyah said. “If he can’t find her, then there’s nothing he can do. What can Xerath do in the mountains of Ionia?” Taliyah thought of the flying fortress, or the River of Blades. The world was so big; she could hide Sivir, if she had to. Taliyah didn’t much like to stay in one place.

“You are willing to let Xerath tear through Shurima as an ill wind while you hide in a mountainside?”

Taliyah paused. No. She wasn’t willing to do that. “What would you have us do?”

Sivir let out a long sigh, then slowly ambled to the basket, taking a sunfruit and biting into it. Even still, she was weak. Whatever wounded her was not so easy to recover from. She had refused to talk about it, although Taliyah had tried.

“You must return to Azir, and the Library of the Sun. The High Priests of Shurima are all long dead. The last remaining hope is there.”

“What do you mean _you_?” Sivir asked, perplexed. “After all this, you won’t even accompany us?”

“In time, but I have business elsewhere.”

“Your brother,” Sivir suggested.

Taliyah did not know that Nasus had a brother. She knew very little of Ancient Shurima. The Great Weaver said very little of ascension rituals and sun discs. It was more of a way to live.

“No,” Nasus said darkly. “Another fire that must be stifled.”

“Alright then,” Sivir said. “Where is the library?”

“Beneath the Sun Disc. I will take you to him. He is expecting you.”

Taliyah and Sivir shared a long, haunted look. She did not want to brought before Azir. Would he look like Nasus? She had heard tales that he appeared as a red hawk, imbued with dark purple, like the sky above Icathia. The Emperor of the Sands did not frighten her.

_There is stone beneath your sand._


	3. Syndra I

SYNDRA  
A Sovereign in Ionia

 

The monastery that had claimed Syndra as a prisoner for over a decade was untriumphant. The stone was a smouldering ruin, crumbled rock spread across clearing among the trees its unmaking had created. Inside the great chunks of obsidian, she could make out the pale blue. It was old magic, nullifying magic, dampening the sorceries of any trapped within its walls. The old monk’s nullifying orbs would not have been sufficient to restrain her, and so – she gathered – he had enlisted the Elders to create a fortress of suppression.

She should have sensed it the moment they brought her, but instead had been so foolish, overwhelmed with delight at finally being recognised and taught. Syndra was not a young girl anymore; she no longer yearned for others tell her of her greatness. Her life was her own warrant. 

“Where will we go, my lady?” asked Udo. His voice was still trembling.

Syndra knew she had frightened him. It had been an destructive act, doubling as a demonstration of force. “There is no shortage of temples in Ionia. We will find one that does not steal from us.”

Syndra turned to her acolytes, a small group of six. The monk had failed to teach her even the basic intricacies of her magic, but they came to her naturally. She learned far more quickly than the others, who fumbled with repeated incants and measured elixirs. They did not question her position as their leader.

“The envoy will come to us soon enough, and we’ll hear what the…” Her tongue moved across her upper teeth. “ _Enlightened one…_ has to say.”

“They won’t bow to you, my lady,” Imari said. She was the youngest of the litter, and the one who held Syndra’s favour. “They have too much to lose.”

The dissonance in Syndra’s voice flared. “They shall lose it anyway.”

Blue smoke billowed from the ruin.

 

—

 

The temple Syndra selected as her palatial seat was one rich in magic.

For near a week Syndra scoured the skies while her acolytes travelled beneath her, from village to village, seeking shelter. Since her power had reawakened, Syndra seldom felt a need for sleep, and devoted her evenings instead to reaching out with her magic, pushing its limits. On the night before she discovered the temple, while reaching out with her magic experienced something new, a sensation like a craving, calling her to the western regions of Ionia. Located near a river that was the site of some ancient battle, the monastery was a marvel to behold.

Once it had been a thin mountain, stretching high but not wide. Two great trunks, taller than giants, stood as enormous columns, blanketed by red and green leaves. Syndra had formed three dark spheres and directed them inside, expanding them, revealing classic pillars of stone which supported the structure inside. Above the entrance, where the two trunks converged, was a makeshift sigil like a crescent moon. Syndra reached out with an arcane sixth sense, and found herself awash in a river of magic. Spheres began to manifest around her, a radiant gold replacing the dark purple. Syndra’s connection to the world of magic at times felt unrestrained, like she might be a being of radiant magic herself. She flew atop another great tree and waited.

The acolytes, weak as they were, must have been able to feel it too. When they arrived, Syndra observed them from a distance, curious. In time, each of their reached out with their arms and their diluted magic, no doubt experiencing the same freedom she had. She descended to the adjoining bridge where the six awaited her.

Their eyes went wide at the sight of her. Three dark spheres orbited her, spinning fast, producing not a sound. A charged, dark energy was her silhouette, identifiable even from a distance.

“My lady,” Imari said, and kneeled. Each of the others kneeled in turn.

 _A pity I can’t have Imari follow me around Ionia, kneeling, persuading others to do the same_ , Syndra thought.

“You can feel it, then,” Syndra said. “The power this place has.”

“These are blessed sigils,” Udo said, permitting a brief glance at the sovereign. “This is one of the great monasteries. A place of—”

“—balance,” interrupted Syndra, disdainfully. She flicked her wrist to indicate the acolytes could stand and walked slowly towards the monastery. Even so far ahead of them, it loomed. Syndra gritted her teeth. She could not deny the magic of the place, but the balance it represented—the balance that compelled jealous thieves to suppress and wound her—was a desecration.

“Balance,” Syndra repeated, “is a blight.”

Syndra lifted her hands into the air, spread her fingers wide, and conjured four additional spheres. She sent them hurtling towards the great trunks, and upon collision they burst into a violet flame. She summoned another dark sphere, and another, and then began to fly, controlling with precision every stroke. The acolytes may have cried out behind her, but she neither heard nor paid them any heed. The structure began to rumble.

Just as the great monastery seemed ready to collapse, flat purple discs formed into replacement pillars, unevenly holding it together. Inside the mountain a heavy rumbling sounded, like a cathartic moan.

“We do not commune with the trees,” Syndra said mockingly. The reverberation of Syndra’s voice filled the air, colliding with the mountain, unable to be ignored. Her speech seemed foreshadowed by the deep dissonance. “We do not persuade the mountains. If the trees do not heel, then they will be ripped from the earth.” Rings of eminent purple appeared like arcane bracelets around her wrists. She twisted them, moving the trunks that had fallen, throwing them like playthings from the bridge and down onto the flowery chasm below. The sky seemed darker.

“If the mountains do not move, then they will be split asunder.”

A band of ten or so men and women dressed in silver emerged from the monastery, bearing curved blades. “Stop!” a man at their head said.

Syndra looked back briefly at her acolytes, and then descended to hover just above the ground, about ten feet from the warriors. “Your temple is an affront,” she said.

“This is not our temple,” the man said. “We only occupy it. Who do you serve?”

“ _Serve_?” Syndra asked.

The man blinked, clearly aware he had insulted her. “Who are you?” he rephrased, with hesitation.

“My name is Syndra, Sovereign of Ionia.”

“Ionia has no sovereign,” the man said, looking back at her reshaping of the temple. 

Syndra had kept her fortress in flight for months, sometimes while she was asleep. Her magic could sustain itself, should she allow it. Only distantly was she aware of the thick cones of her magic supporting the structure.

“Ionia had no sovereign, but its leaders are weak. The Elders are outdated and out of touch. What they call balance and temperance is nothing but suppression.” Syndra paused, undecided on what she was willing to share with these strangers. No, she saw no need to mention her prison. Not yet. “Who are you?”

The man turned to look at a woman standing just behind him. Their hair—both a light blond—and a similarly square jaw marked them as close kin, perhaps siblings. They spoke, briefly, in hushed tones that Syndra could not make out. Had it gone on any longer, she might have become irate, as she could already feel a subtle irritation at the group for its lack of deference.

“My name is Kyros, and this is my sister, Agatha.”

“You asked me who I serve. Only a servant would ask such a question.”

The man smiled. “We serve the holy light of the moon. We are the last of the Lunari.”

 

—

Syndra selected a spacious room with a comfortable bed that would serve as her quarters. The room was largely undecorated and unfurnished, but for the bookshelves that lined the walls. She picked out a few and flicked lazily through the pages, unable to find anything not in unreadable ancient Ionian. A word here or there she recognised.

_Sai: warning._

_Kuzoko: outsider._

But the texts themselves were impossible to parse. Outside her window, she had a vast view of the river she had seen before. Great swords so large more than half the blade was still visible, the hilts distinctive, unmissable shapes in the twilight. Before following the Lunari Order inside, she had conjured a dark sphere larger than any she had made before and placed it far above the monastery. The envoy would know where to find her.

A knock at the door.

“Enter.”

Imari entered sheepishly, the young girl already bowed over, unable to look at Syndra directly.

“Ah, good,” Syndra said. “You’ve come. What do you know of this place, Imari?”

“The monastery?” she asked. “It is a place of… sanctified reflection, I think. It is quite new, I think, but I doubt the Lunari would be able to weave such a place. It would take months, a year even, to create a place like this.”

“And why is that?” Syndra asked. “With a thought I could unmake and make this place again.”

“Yes, my lady—”

“ _Your Eminence_ ,” Syndra interjected.

“I am sorry?”

“I was born to peasants, Imari. In a village with scarce a hundred people.” Syndra flipped over one of the books on her desk, examining the back. “My style shall be Your Eminence. Advise the others on this.”

“The Lunari, too?”

Syndra paused. “What do you know of them?”

“They are ancient, my—Your Eminence. They hail from the greatest of the mounts, Targon, and stand against the Solari. Sun worshippers. The two have been killing one another for centuries. But the Lunari are a small force. They number very few, but they are warriors. And descended of warriors.”

“How many of them? Here?”

“A few dozen, at most. Outside I cannot say. It has been a long time since I was last home. Things may be different now. I hear rumours…”

“One cannot depend on rumours, Imari.”

The girl resolved. “I’m sorry, Your Eminence.”

Syndra regarded Imari coolly. “Summon Kyros. I will receive him here.” The spheres around her, gone since she entered the room, reappeared.

It was Agatha who entered Syndra’s quarters, not Kyros. She came in behind Imari in no apparent rush. The woman had perhaps two decades on Syndra. The curved blade she carried earlier was now slung over her back.

“I am sorry, Your Eminence. He would not come. He said…”

“It’s alright. Leave us, Imari.”

“You summoned my brother,” she said. “But the high priest of the Lunari, Blessed of the Moon, is not so easily conjured.”

“You allude to these,” Syndra asked, and pushed one of the spheres towards her. “Curious, aren’t they? You can touch it. They are quite cool, when I will them to be. A simple, but potent manifestation of my magic. As a girl they were the most I could muster. I’ll admit I’ve grown fond of them.”

“Your powers have grown, then.”

The woman held a hand close to the sphere. Syndra knew the sensation she was experiencing well; it began as a tingling, but the sphere’s pull on the outside world became larger the closer she moved her hand. Syndra had cautiously waived the draw from the sphere high above the monastery. “What is the source of them? Some trinket?”

“I have no need for crude, ensorcelled relics,” Syndra said, the thrumming dissonance flaring. “This gift is mine by birthright.”

To which Agatha nodded, almost smug.

Syndra felt a need to crush that feeling. “My acolyte tells me your numbers are small. That you have been hunted to extinction.”

Agatha walked further into the room, settled into a rather uncomfortable-looking chair by the window. “She is well-informed.”

“You abandoned your home,” Syndra stated bluntly.

“Did you?”

A pang of resentment in Syndra’s chest. “I did not leave, no.” She paused. “I was dragged away at a young age.”

“You frightened them,” Agatha said, to which Syndra nodded. “People fear what they cannot understand. The Solari fear a great many things. Us, chiefly.”

“Why would they fear you? There can’t be more than three dozen of you. What are there numbers? Hundreds?”

“Perhaps. Sun worship is common on the mountain, but the Solari are warrior-priests. They exist to hunt us. Now that we are gone, not one of them has been sighted around their temples for months. Vanished soon after our departure, by all accounts.”

“Curious,” the sovereign said.

“What do you want from us, Syndra? To share this place with us?”

Syndra turned away from Agatha to examine the books once more. A long, pregnant silence passed between the two women. “Your presence here is timely. I require numbers, not input, not collaborators, but bodies are valuable still.”

“We have seen what you can do,” Agatha said, readjusting her chair to face Syndra. “And all without the aid of some relic as I suspected, well, we aren’t quite sure what to make of that, if you are even to believed. Only a handful of players in this game possess the capacity to wreak such havoc upon the world. What good are bodies to you when you can obliterate masses of them with a thought?”

 _You legitimise me_ , Syndra thought. To become a force in political contention with the Elders, Syndra had to win hearts and minds, not simply through fear.

“The First Lands are mine by right. But to claim the land, the people must be persuaded, and not by force if that is possible.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“Then by the force of my will, I will take the four corners and they will learn to value me. I can lead this land to prosperity. But the values here are misguided, and wrong. They cannot stand.”

Agatha rubbed her thumb and forefinger together. “We have many things in common, Your Eminence. Both of us struggling against what we know to be harmful. But there is too much weighing upon us to assist you. Not without something in return.”

Syndra narrowed her eyes to thin slants of purple. “You presume too much.”

Agatha quickly rose to her feet, hands outstretched as if to impress that she was unarmed. “I do not. We have enemies, Syndra. And we can stand beside you, support you even. Kyros and I would make convincing Ionian citizens.”

“You would not be expected to speak.”

“All the better. All rulers must compromise and negotiate.”

Syndra’s jaw felt suddenly tight. “What would you ask of me?”

“An escort to Targon. The Solari have gone silent and we must know the truth of it.”

“And if they are not silent, and you are misinformed?”

Agatha and Syndra stared hard at each other for what felt like a very long time.

“I think you know what we would want from you. In that case.”

“I am not another weapon to sling on your back, Agatha.”

“Oh,” she said, “but you _are_ , Syndra. The air around you is alive with electricity, and power. The moon has united us for a purpose. First, Ionia. Then, Targon. We will be excellent ambassadors for you. Courteous, patient, kind. And should this envoy bring guards to arrest you, we will deal with them. You need not bloody your hands, Your Eminence. Not any more than you already have.”

Syndra’s entire body tightened. “What are you talking about? What blood do you speak of?”

“News of a sovereign in Ionia has spread quickly. Your acolytes have been passing on your word, as it were. The ruined fortress, the dead monk. The Elders know what you did. You cannot trust those _acolytes_ , Syndra. Jealous fools raised in your shadow. Word has travelled not just of a sovereign, but a dark sovereign, terrible in power and radiant in beauty. They’re coming, and they’re coming soon. Will the Lunari stand by your side?”

Syndra was close to shaking, seething with rage. She wanted to scatter each of them against the walls of her chamber for being so stupid, and she wanted to do it _now_.

“So be it.”

Agatha nodded, started towards the door. “I’ll speak with Kyros, Your Eminence.”

“And Agatha,” Syndra said, as the woman was about to leave. “Send in Imari.”


End file.
